


Break Me Down

by Chex (provetheworst)



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: 80's AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Punk Rock, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Chex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where it's the 80's and everyone is really poor and angry, then they start a post-punk band. Then Harry meets Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any historical inaccuracies. I did what I could.

Harry is fifteen and terrified.

He and his mum live in a council flat just outside Manchester, and he goes to school with a lot of people he hates. His mum works a lot, so when he comes home he's got hours spent alone grateful she even has a job when half their neighbors don't. Not that the privilege does them a lot of good: they're still here, still poor, still miserable.

Harry gets a job at a bakery, which means less time after school to get in trouble but also means he gets more shit from his schoolmates.

Whatever.

He's heading home after school and work one afternoon, hunched into a beaten up blazer and ragged trousers when he spots Zayn, a classmate of his, getting the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of skinheads who also go to their school.

Harry knows better. He's scrawny and awkward and looks all too sweet, so none of them take him seriously when he yells, "oi, let him alone!"

Still, he wades into the fray and gets his own arse kicked before the police show up and have him and Zayn running - not like the police are interested in helping either of them, just shutting down a lot of unruly youth. Harry knows well enough it's him and Zayn who'd probably get blamed for starting it.

They get away, and Harry brings Zayn back to his and his mum's flat and they get each other cleaned up and Zayn says, "Thanks, mate," and, "You didn't have to do that."

Harry shrugs. His ribs hurt and his nose is still bleeding a little, so he's got tissue shoved in it.

His mum gets home, looks at both of them and doesn't say anything but asks if Zayn wants dinner, and that's how the two of them become friends.

-

Louis' the one to suggest they start a band, because he overheard Harry singing and wants to learn the guitar and Zayn already plays the drums, so why not, right.

Harry likes the idea well enough. It isn't as if he's got much else going for him.

He likes music a lot, too, has posters of Bowie and Joy Division and the Jesus and Mary Chain all over his room. There's easy influences to trawl.

Zayn smokes a lot of weed and listens to The Clash, and Louis likes a lot of shit but he gets his guitar and plays all right, and they manage to cobble together something decent, the three of them.

-

Harry figures out he isn't straight pretty early, but it takes a boy named Liam for him to do anything about it. Liam's the one he loses his virginity to, and they don't last but Liam gets absorbed into their group of friends and plays the bass and he's good to have as a friend.

In the end, it's Louis, again, who suggests they pack up and move to London.

The four of them all cram into one shitty little flat and Harry's boss helps him get another bakery job and he is generally the only one of them working, though Zayn and Louis and Liam all work off and on as dishwashers and couriers and house painters and movers, whatever they can get.

Mostly they play music.

-

People listen, for some reason. Harry's still young and terrified, and he both craves approval and hates nearly everyone, which isn't a good match.

They get a reputation, One Direction. Their name sounds vaguely fascist but they kick out any skinheads who turn up to their shows, and Zayn's the one to start doing graffiti first but Harry picks it up quick and follows in his footsteps.

Of all of them, Liam is the only one who's any good in a fight, but - Harry's angry, and that helps.

He just wants people to like him, but they've got to be the right people.

Then Nick bloody Grimshaw from fucking Radio 1 wants an interview, and Harry thinks about saying no but Louis insists and Harry knows better by now than to second guess Louis's judgment. Without Louis, he'd still be languishing at a bakery outside Manchester hating everything.

These days, he only hates some things. At least he's got his friends and music and scene to love. There are people who like him, who think he's all right, and Harry will never admit it to anyone else but that's all he wants.

He wishes everyone would like him. It hurts when people don't, a lot. Used to be that would make him cry, but he's young and scared and angry and now he just uses that disapproval to fuel his anger.

Showing fear only ever gets him hurt. Vulnerability is the difference between success and being hated.

So whatever. If the same station that plays fucking Wham wants to talk to One Direction, they're going to bloody well get One Direction.

Live, no less. Playing acoustic. Harry rolls his eyes at the mere idea but still sings his heart out - the country may hate the idea of him, but he wants to be loved.

-

 

"Today we've got One Direction with us! Yeahh!" Nick Fucking Grimshaw says, altogether too excited given that One Direction officially - on the record,even - hates him and Radio 1 in general.

He's nice, though. They're all nice, the whole crew for his show, Matt and LMC and the lot of them. They don't treat Harry's band like rubbish that needs taking out, but instead all seem genuinely interested. Or they're good at pretending.

The questions they get are soft, avoiding politics, and somehow Nick derails it completely if they get close to bringing it up. The way they come off, they seem _nice._ as if One Direction is made up of a band of sweet, innocent lads made of sunshine and friendship instead of a weird, tangled up mess of anger and ennui and a desperate, clawing need to be anywhere else besides where they came from.

It means their next show is crowded with fresh-faced teenagers baffled by the pit and that they sell more records in a week than they have in a year. It means Louis and Niall spend nearly a whole week copying tape after tape after tape on Niall's tape deck because they can't afford another pressing and this is the only way they have to propagate their message to a public that suddenly, bafflingly wants to listen.

-

Harry hates Nick, but Nick is useful, and the two of them make for good radio, apparently. Harry goes back on the show.

And between songs, him and Nick talk.

Nick, beyond all logic and comprehension, seems to like Harry, and Harry can't help himself. All he wants is to be liked, so Nick is like a flame and Harry's the moth and Nick asks him if he wants company to some godawful industry event and Harry says, "Yes," and barely avoids the please.

Harry hates the press. He hates reporters and DJs and the paparazzi, and he hurdles in close to Nick's side the whole night because it's Harry, of all the band, who has been thrown to the wolves.

He's the pretty one. He's the lead singer. Of course it's him they want.

"You want to get out of here?" Nick asks, low, early. Too early to leave gracefully, really.

"God, yeah," Harry says, and the two of them sneak out and take the tube back to Nick's place which is vastly nicer than Harry's and the two of them get pissed beyond all reckoning, and it's a much better way to spend an evening, as it turns out.  
"D'you ever think, like," Harry's trying to say, slowly. "That you were born in the wrong era, maybe?"

"You wish you were a proper punk rocker?" Nick says. "1976, hanging out with the Sex Pistols?"

"Nah," Harry says. "I mean more if I were born - ten years from now. Where would I be then?"

"In the future."

"But like, I just want to ..." Harry pauses, then shakes his head. "I wish I knew, right now, what it'd be like twenty years from now."

"So you'd be ten, in this scenario."

"Yeah. No! All right, thirty years, fine," Harry says. "Where d'you think England will be? You think we'll have got rid of the Queen by then?"

"She's bound to die eventually," Nick says, noncommittal. He's so far away. Harry stares at him, wonders why Nick's on radio instead of TV, with a face like that. He doesn't ask. Probably just both of them are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I just wish -" Harry starts, then shakes his head. "I hate this country sometimes."

"I know, love," Nick says. He's staring, too, right back at Harry.

"You're not listening to me."

"I'm a bit drunk, if you hadn't noticed," Nick says, voice dropping half an octave. "And I'm alone in my flat with one of the handsomest young men I've seen in a while, so, yeah, forgive me if I'm distracted."

"Fuck," Harry says, vehement. Then: "You some sort of queer, then?"

Nick shrugs.

Harry leans forward, says, "Me too," and kisses Nick, hard. He pushes Nick down to the sofa and bites at his lip, and Nick pulls his hair and it's a bit like a fight, the way they go at it, and Harry feels almost incandescent.

He hates Radio 1, he hates Nick Grimshaw, DJ, but Nick late at night and pissed - Nick is all right. Harry can stand Nick, just barely.

And Harry is lonely and Nick seems to like him, and it feels like approval, getting off with him.

-

Sometimes Niall likes to compare Louis to a hedgehog, when Louis's come up with another scheme to get the band attention, or written another song, or whatever it is Louis's decided to get up to. "He's like - he's really cute, and you know he's prickly but you don't expect it's actually going to hurt but then he bristles up and you're like, oh, yeah," Niall says.

"I think he's more a fox," Zayn says. He passes the joint to Harry, who lights it, takes a long hit, then does another just for the sake of it.

"Here, c'mon," Louis says, beckoning Harry in. Harry holds the smoke in his mouth, leans in close. Louis's lips are almost touching his, then they part, and Harry exhales, lets Louis suck the breath and smoke right out of him.

"Crafty bastard," Zayn continues, as if nothing's happened. "And, you know. Hunted." He laughs.

"Does that make us a band of foxes?" Liam asks. "I think Harry'd be more of a - I dunno, a tom cat, maybe."

Louis takes a hit of his own, after Harry's let him shotgun, but then he returns the favor, lets Harry have some of it. They're this close to kissing, but they never do, and Harry's fine with that.

For all that the rest of the band wants to compare Louis to some animal, Harry knows better. If anything, it's the rest of them that are - they're a pack of dogs, and Louis is their master.

Harry's all right with that. At least he can trust Louis, unlike nearly everyone else he's encountered, from record executives to his schoolmates to all the other people from the tower block Harry and his mum had lived in for a while.

-

"Harry, phone for you," Niall shouts. Harry trots out to the main room of their shitty flat, takes the phone from Niall. Niall whispers, "It's the one from the radio."

"Hiya, Harry, this is Nick," Nick says, after Harry mumbles a vague hello. "How are you? Doing all right, rockstar?"

"'m fine," Harry says.

"Listen, there's this charity thing coming up," Nick says. "And we thought you might like to play it."

"Who's we?"

"The beeb. Radio 1. Mostly me, honestly, it was my idea. If you don't, that's fine. We can get New Order -"

"Oh, fuck New Order," Harry says, suddenly bristling. "We'll do it. Or - I have to ask - Louis!" he bellows.

Louis emerges from the bedroom after a moment, rubbing at his eyes. "What?"

"You wanna play some charity concert?"

"God, no," Louis says. "Wait, what's the charity?"

"What's the charity?" Harry asks.

"'S for starving children in Africa, that sort of thing," Nick says.

"Starving Africans," Harry relays, loyally.

"Fuck no," Louis says. "If it were something closer to home, yeah, but no."

"Sorry, mate," Harry says. "Can't do it."

Nick hmms agreeably. "All right. Say, though, you busy tonight?"

"No," Harry admits.

"Wonderful." Nick starts going on about some party he's going to, and Harry listens to him, barely, mostly starng at the ceiling and tuning it out. "So you in?"

"Sure," Harry says.

"Fantastic. See you then," Nick says, and it sounds like he's ready to hang up so Harry has to talk fast, not a strong suit of his.

"Wait, wait, where is it again? What am I doing?" Harry asks.

Nick laughs and repeats himself.

-

Soon as Harry shows up, Nick gets him by the arm, with this rakish grin, and drags him to the toilets.

Harry says, "Was this all an elaborate excuse to pull?" but then Nick's digging in his pocket and he's got a little bag of white powder, and, oh.

"We're doing tonight right, rockstar," Nick tells him, and they do lines off the back of a toilet, crammed together in the dingy stall, and then Harry feels invincible and, again, incandescent.

Something about Nick lights him up, and he thinks again of moths and flames. He's not sure who's who anymore.

All he knows is he wants someone to love him, and Nick doesn't, not at all, but Nick's willing to snog him in front of everyone, Nick's willing to laugh and dance with him to shitty pop music, and Nick's willing to take him home when it's all over, and that's close enough for Harry right now since he knows he's never going to actually get what he wants.

Nick blows him in the toilets, and Harry returns the favor back at Nick's flat, and somehow, after that, spending time with Nick turns into a regular thing.

They'll meet down the pub, or Harry will hang out outside of the studio with his head down and his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched up against the rest of the world until Nick comes out and then he can relax a little and the two of them can go get lunch someplace.

Harry's got enough money, with his band's sudden popularity, that he can actually afford to eat out. It's bizarre.

He's got thousands of pounds where he's used to having none, and he's no idea what to do with it, and he admits as much, once.

Nick says, "Well, it's yours, isn't it? Save some of it. Use the rest. That's what I do."

"That doesn't help," Harry says. Then: "I've got an idea."

"Oh, no."

"How much kebab do you think we could get from one takeaway?"

"Why do you want so much kebab?"

"Feed the homeless," Harry says. "I want to - yeah. I'm going to - that's what I'm going to do with my money. You in?"

"Yeah, all right," Nick says, laughing, and they make an afternoon of it, buying curry and kebab and chips and whatever else they can think of and just passing it out, giving it away.

Nick chips in a few times, helps buy. Harry likes that.

Harry still wants to hate Nick Grimshaw, but he can't, not anymore. At some point, he'll be proven wrong. He knows this. Nick will do something awful and Harry will feel the sting of betrayal but he will, at least, be proven right, because there's no way someone like Nick - rich, full of it, on the radio - can actually be this nice, and Harry doesn't want to buy into this illusion for very long.

Nick just makes it hard not to believe sometimes.

That's almost enough to make Harry hate him. 

Not quite.

-

So - days add up to weeks add up to months, and the band gets bigger. They get popular. They go on tour.

Liam moves out first, then Niall gets his own place, and Harry doesn't want to so him and Louis stay in the same little flat that suddenly isn't so cramped when it's three people living there instead of five. Zayn's in and out, sort of detached, not that Harry can blame him.

Sometimes it's more like two people live there than three.

Zayn gets a girl who dyes her hair purple and helps him paint the town red with baffling and angry slogans, graffiti wherever they think they can get away with it.

Harry starts going along with them. At first, he's just the lookout, to let them know if someone's noticed, but he starts taking part, too. He feels brave and suddenly substantial, as if he's taken on a new meaning, a hidden one.

He pastes up flyers, draws them by hand and sticks them up with wheatpaste. He makes stencils, sprays those wherever the urge strikes him.

It's fun.

He doesn't tell Nick, but Nick takes his hands one night, says, "What have you been up to, rockstar?"

Harry shrugs.

"Got paint under your nails," Nick points out, helpful, then kisses his fingers one by one, joint by joint. Nick is weirdly tender sometimes, in a way that Harry really wishes he could just accept.

-

-

"D'you ever, like," Niall starts, a bit vaguely. "You know."

"I've no idea," Harry says.

"No! I wasn't done. All right, no, look, it's just, you ever realize you sort of miss everybody?"

"No?" Harry says, bewildered.

"You still live with Zayn and Louis, though," Niall says. His flat's pretty small, but it's his own, and sometimes Harry envies him for that. He lies down across Niall's bed and looks up at the ceiling. "So I guess you wouldn't the, never mind. Unless you miss me and Liam."

"I see you two all the time."

"I just feel like - I dunno, like it's weird we've got all this money now. I don't think anything's even changed. I just sort of miss everybody sometimes."

Harry looks at him, then pats the mattress next to himself. "C'mere, Nialler."

If there's one thing Niall's good for, it's a cuddle. Anyway, Harry doesn't want any of his band feeling left out. They all need each other still, even if they never really say it. Harry's never admitted that to anyone, either, that he relies on his band for so much. It feels kind of weird, but it's nice, too, having people he can trust so deeply.

-

Harry thinks he's being domesticated against his will, but he can't really fight it. He still gives his all on stage, still believes in what he sings. He still goes out at nights and does drugs and gets into fights, but - sometimes, he won't go out.

Sometimes, he'll go 'round Nick's flat and they'll lay around and watch Dr Who and eat takeaway, and Harry will lie with his head in Nick's lap and Nick will card his fingers through Harry's hair, and Harry lets himself pretend he's normal for a bit.

It all feels very domestic. Nick's not much of one for cooking, but Harry makes him dinner one night and that puts Nick on a proper tear.

"Here, no, we've got to - I want to get a cookbook or something. Let's go, yeah? C'mon, come with me tomorrow," Nick says, so they go down to a book seller and look through cookbooks until Nick finds one he likes, and somehow they walk out with five of the bloody things and an entire shopping list before the end up going to the shops to get everything they  need for spinach fucking pie.

"Don't help me," Nick says, holding up a hand warningly. "I'm cooking for you. For you. You have to let me."

"Yeah, all right," Harry says, laughing, and he leans against the counter and watches Nick and feels an ache in his chest he's no idea what to do with. He wishes he were angry. He knows what that feels like.

-

Harry reads every single review he can find. If he hears people talking about his band, people who don't recognize him, he'll stop and eavesdrop.

By now, he should really know better.

Just - the NME loves him, so he gets a copy basically every week since they show up nearly every week. They've been on the cover four times in the past year.

Harry is eighteen and on the way to rich. He lives in London with two of his best mates, with the other two still very close by. Just - he gets lonely, sometimes. He likes knowing he's appreciated, that people think him and his band are actually worth anything.

They get a mention near the very back of Rolling Stone, which is completely insane to Harry, that people from across a fucking ocean have now heard of them; at some point, he thinks, they should see if they can tour over there. They've played with a fair few American bands at this point, who've been on tour in the UK, opening up for people more famous.

Maybe, Harry thinks. Maybe.

-

For a while Harry gets scared the band is going to drift apart, because Niall lives on his own and Liam hardly leaves his flat and Zayn's always off somewhere with Perrie, and he fears it's going to be just him and Louis. Not that Harry doesn't love Louis as much as he loves everyone else, but he thinks Louis without the influence of the others would actually be sort of terrifying.

He thinks he'd follow Louis anywhere, do anything Louis said, and that scares him; without the others around, he doesn't know what Louis would ask of him.

So they tour the states, operating out of a shitty band lent to them by Ian fucking Mackaye, which is absurd all on its own, only it's Ian who helps them find places to crash every night, and they tour with some hardcore band who don't sound much like them but who are nice enough.

They sleep on floors and couches and sometimes in the van, and America is huge and vaguely terrifying and Harry is baffled to find he's no longer allowed to drink, not legally, but whatever, he's a rockstar so he ignores it and nobody really gives him much shit.

It's apparently a recent change anyway, so maybe it just hasn't sunk in quite yet. Something stupid about highway funding.

Highway funding seems of surprising import in a country this size, to be fair. Sometimes Harry is surprised how much people here end up liking them, that people come up to their merch table after shows to talk to them and get pictures with them - he'd thought they were altogether too English for that, but apparently not.

Something manages to resonate. Not that Harry minds. He's just glad people like them. Touring seems to draw the band back together into one cohesive unit, since they're on top of each other all the time; they may argue about stupid things like who forgot to get rid of their trash or whose turn it is to drive, but it's a good reminder that they can argue about little things like that and not hate each other and that they all still need each other nearly as much as they did when they were still young and scared and living up north, before anyone knew who they were.

Sometimes things happen that he wants to tell Nick about, only he's out on the road in America and long distance costs too much for him to feel okay with it even now that he's got the money, so he writes a lot of shitty postcards and sends those back.

If Nick gets them, he has no idea. If Nick wants to reply, he has even less idea - it's not like he knows in advance where he'll be staying, so there's no way for mail to get to him, and Harry's well aware he's being sentimental and ridiculous bothering a goddamn nationally famous DJ like Nick while Harry's off goofing around.

Not that he cares about Nick's fame; it's stupid and he hates it. Still.

-

They get back, and first thing Harry does when they get off the plane is tell Lou, "Hey, can you get my stuff back up to the flat?" and when Lou says, "Yeah, all right?" Harry doesn't bother addressing Louis' confusion at all and just fucks right off into a cab of his own.

He goes to Nick's. Nick isn't actually there, but Harry knows where he hides the spare key so he lets himself in and sits on the couch and watches telly, then he gets up after a while, around when he knows Nick gets home, and starts cooking dinner.

So it'll be ready. He feels like a proper housewife.

It's stupid and sentimental and then he hears Nick come back, only Nick's not alone, he's got bloody Aimee and Pixie and Theo with him, and Harry - doesn't know what to do. He hates himself, quite suddenly and quite strongly, for thinking this was a good idea.

He didn't even call ahead. Of course Nick wouldn't be alone.

"Is someone here?" he hears Aimee asking, sounding a bit terrified, not that Harry can blame her.

"Oh, bloody hell," Nick says. "Of course today's the day someone'd decide to burgle my fucking house -"

Harry didn't actually know Nick owned a cricket bat, but he shows up in the doorway of the kitchen holding it.

Harry raises a hand, still holding the spatula, managing to splatter himself with some of the sauce he was making. "Hiya."

Nick pauses. Lets the cricket bat down. Says, "Harold?"

Harry shrugs. "Thought you'd be hungry."

"I thought you were in America!" Aimee laughs.

"Just got back." Harry ducks his head, turns back to the stove, feeling suddenly angry and resentful about everything. Part of him wants to pick up the pan and just bash all three of their stupid heads in with it.

Instead, he pokes at it with the spatula, makes sure nothing's burning. He swallows around a weird lump in his throat. Right now, he feels very, very stupid.

Harry says, "Dunno if there's going to be enough for five."

"Harry," Nick says, and stands behind him, dropping his head to Harry's shoulder, arms 'round his waist. "Hiya. Welcome back, rockstar, how was America?"

"Okay."

Theo says, "Should we go, then? You probably don't still want to go get lunch."

"You can hang 'round."

"Nah," Aimee says. "We'll go find someplace to eat, don't worry. See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Nick agrees, not arguing; instead, he kisses Harry's neck. Harry flushes red. He's shaking, just a little. He feels so, so fucking stupid.

At least the other three leave.

"Hiya," Nick says, when they've gone. "Welcome home, Harry."

"Cheers."

"Didn't your plane, like, just get in?"

"Yeah. Couple hours ago."

Nick breathes in deep, and laughs. "You haven't even had time for a shower, have you. Just dropped your things off at yours and then broke into my flat to make me lunch."

Harry shrugs.

Nick pauses, says, "Did you even go home?"

"No," Harry admits.

Nick spins him around and kisses him, hard; Harry has to remind himself not to lean back at all, because of the stove behind them, so he pushes back, and they stumble across the kitchen, Harry biting at Nick's mouth until they're up against the opposite wall and he's got Nick pressed to the cupboards and grinning appreciatively into it.

Still - he's cooking. They have to break away so he can finish the pasta and make sure the sauce doesn't burn, then they sit around like they always do, watching telly and eating spaghetti while Nick asks all about tour and Harry calms down and tells him.

He still feels vaguely ashamed of himself for coming here first, after getting caught like that, but Nick's so nice to him, and that's all Harry really wants. He feels sort of warm with how nice Nick is to him.

It's very nearly enough to make him cry, which Harry does more readily than he'd like to admit, but he can't, not right now, not here. Nick may make him vulnerable but Harry isn't going to give that much of himself away, not when he's already shown himself to be altogether too sentimental.

-

So.

Harry reads everything about his band, and there are a lot of people, it turns out - and he knew this! - that hate them.

Louis rubs his shoulders, says, "Harry, hey, it's all right."

Possibly Harry's eyes are watering a bit.

"It's one bad review. You know how many good ones we've got?"

"This one's not even - they don't just hate us," Harry says, hating how rough his voice sounds. "They hate me. Think I'm a fucking poser or something."

"They haven't even met you."

"Yeah," Harry says, "but what if - I kind of am, aren't I?"

"No."

"Like, I put on this act, but," Harry starts, then stops. His shoulders are shaking.

"Look," Louis says. "Look, they're idiots, all right? What the fuck do they know? Don't - or - yeah, it's shit, but get mad. Yeah, it hurts, but you can hurt them right back."

Harry's quiet.

Louis says, "C'mon, I've got this song I've been working on, help me with it."

"Okay."

-

It's winter. It's cold and dreary and grey and Harry puts on a jumper under his leather jacket, because even though he could afford a really good winter coat now, he sort of forgets that sometimes, and the jacket-and-jumper combination works well enough until some designer gets an idea and suddenly there's a whole fucking fashion line designed for them and marketed around them and the whole band's sprawled across the middle of half the fashion magazines, advertising the shit.

Louis's the one who says they should do it, so of course they do.

At least it earns Harry a really nice winter coat.

It's just weird, because he's not sure when he turned into a style icon. Or any kind of icon, honestly.

Thank god for Nick, because he makes fun of Harry for the whole ridiculous situation.

Harry thinks he might be a little in love.

Then Nick says, "So, Harold," leaning forward across the table of the too-cool restaurant they're getting dinner in. "What are you doing over the holidays?"

"Dunno," Harry says. "Probably just working on the new album with Lou. We've almost got enough written to go into the studio, I think."

"Ah, so busy with the day job." Nick laughs. "I was just wondering if - you know, it's almost Christmas, maybe you've got a few days to spare."

"I might do," Harry allows, careful. "What for? There a party?"

"You could say that."

-

Which is how Harry ends up back in Manchester, dressed in his nice new winter coat, carrying a suitcase with him and following Nick into the fucking Grimshaw family home.

Nick's parents fuss over him a bit, and Harry hangs back, until Nick's mum says, "Nick, love, come on, introduce us! Look at the poor dear."

"You're that Henry Stars, right?" Nick's dad says, and Harry laughs, feels his cheeks going red. He has no idea what to do about parents, honestly. No one's brought him 'round to meet theirs in - ever, as far as he knows. He's met Louis's, of course, and he's met Zayn's mum once or twice, but that's as far as that goes.

"Dad!" Nick says, mock-offended. Then he sighs. "Mum, dad, this is Harry Styles. Harry, this's Mum and Dad."

"Hi, Mrs Grimshaw," Harry says, because she's swooped in for a hug. When she lets him go - he awkwardly pats at her back and she seems to get the idea - he gives NIck's dad a good handshake. "Hi, Mr Grimshaw."

"Nick, we've got your room made up, but I wasn't sure if we needed to make up the guest room or not, so I got out the sheets, but it's up to you, really," Nick's mum is saying, and Harry doesn't actually know what to make of that.

He supposes it's pretty obvious why he's here. It's just - weird, sort of. Familial acknowledgment. Nick's dad looks slightly grumpy while his mum's going on about sleeping arrangements, but he doesn't say anything contrary.

Harry's gotten very used to rumors of his sex life being sensationalized, because for a while there it really was a bit sensationalistic - he'd fuck groupies, or let them fuck him depending on the situation, and he'd snogged boys and girls and a few people he's not really sure of just what they were. So.

Having it treated like this perfectly normal thing that he and Nick are - whatever they are. It's weird.

Worst of all, it's kind of nice.

He gets invited in, and Nick's mum puts the kettle on and he meets Nick's brother who promptly darts off to go to the pub - Nick's dad sighs, says, "Thinks he's too cool for us," and that's the end of that - and it's all very cozy and familiar.

Harry wants to go home.

He tells himself that, anyway. He's just a little overwhelmed. He doesn't know what he's doing with his life, how he got here, of all places, by being in a punk band.

He sleeps in with Nick, and then it's Christmas eve and time for lots of drinking and board games and watching cooking shows on the telly, and a huge dinner that Nick doesn't have to help with.

He whispers in Harry's ear, says, "Haven't told mum I've been learning to cook."

Harry laughs, and beams at Nick. "Crafty bastard."

"She raised me well." Nick snugs his arm a little tighter around Harry, and Harry feels - he feels really happy, actually. Him and Nick have this bizarre, accidental thing between them, and it's really nice, and Harry thinks, maybe, that it's all right.

Maybe he's allowed not to be angry all the time. He can have this.

He hopes to god he can have it, that this won't ruin him or blunt his edge, and that he's not wrong about Nick thinking it's pretty lovely, too, because he doesn't think Nick would've invited him if he weren't just as into Harry as Harry's into him, but maybe he's wrong and Nick was just taking pity on him because it's not as if Harry was going to go back to the block for Christmas and -

"Stop thinking so much," Nick tells him.

"Sorry."

"Makes me worry when you're worrying," Nick says, kindly enough. 

"Yeah. No, sorry, I'll stop," Harry says, turning his head up to kiss Nick, briefly, though he makes sure to remember himself and where he is and keeps it nice and chaste.

-

He doesn't keep it as chaste in bed that night. He keeps quiet, of course, but he lets Nick fuck him and he claws at Nick's back and Nick presses his hand hard against Harry's mouth and Harry bites at it just because he can, and thank god Nick's willing to be rough with him now because Harry doesn't think he could stand any more sweetness.

Nick gives him a proper pounding, too. Harry's going to have bruises, and he's not actually sure he'll be able to walk right on Christmas morning, and he's just - he's glad, is all, knowing Nick Grimshaw.

-

Christmas can't last - it's only one day - and the day after they're on the train headed back to London. At least they're going together.

"Your family's really nice," Harry says, staring down at his shoes.

"They're all right, yeah," Nick says. "A little embarrassing, though."

"Still, they're - they're nice."

"Yeah." Nick doesn't ask about Harry's own family; Harry's never said anything. Probably Nick already knows, from the media, but it's kind of him not to question it.

Harry sends a lot of his money, when he's not wasting it on coke or feeding the homeless, along to his mum.

He doesn't like to talk about it. He loves her, and she's supportive but she worries about him and she doesn't like Louis much these days, and it's just easier to live in London and not think about it and just - send her money, as a thank you.

-

Nick throws a party on New Year's Eve, only Harry's got a show to play and the band goes out after, and so they spend the night apart, only Harry goes back to Nick's in the morning instead of back home.

Louis grabs him, first, says, "Where the fuck are you going?"

Harry shrugs.

"No, really, what's with you lately?"

"Dunno."

"You in trouble?" Louis asks, voice softer.

"Nah. It's just - I dunno. I don't know, I'm sorry."

"If there's something wrong -"

"Just going 'round to Nick's," Harry admits, finally; he never talks to his band about Nick, either, even though it's common enough knowledge the two of them are friends-or-whatever. There's speculation about it, but then, there's a lot of weird speculation about Harry all over and he's well known for talking a lot of shit to the papers so not much stock gets put n any one thing.

"Mm," Louis says. "He's got you trained up right, doesn't he?"

"What?"

"Like you're his bloody pet or something," Louis says.

"I really like him," Harry says.

Louis says, "Harry. He still works for Radio 1."

"I know."

"He's still part of the problem."

Harry goes to Nick's anyway. Nick is asleep, so Harry crawls into bed with him, curls up behind him and holds on.

-

After that, though, he thinks maybe he is being a little too sentimental these days. He went to Nick's for fucking Christmas, after all, so he starts going to more parties and causing more trouble and most of January passes in a ridiculous whirl of drugs and alcohol and concerts the police get called on more often than not.

They play shows in lofts and bars and people's flats, and it's all pretty fucking brilliant, and Harry has a good time of it, likes getting to show off. 

"There's the old Harry," Niall says, laughing one night, clapping him on the back as Harry stumbles off stage, wiped out from singing and running back and forth and climbing the speakers and crowdsurfing and hanging off the balcony at one point.

"What d'you mean?"

"You've just been weird lately," Niall says. "I dunno, never mind, that was a brilliant show, good job -"

"No, really, what do you mean?" Harry asks.

"It's nothing!"

-

Nick throws Harry a birthday party, which is really nice of him, only Harry quite suddenly hates Nick, can't stand the sight of him, so he goes and he snogs Agyness, who neither of them knows that well. She's pretty and thin and a proper fucking model, and she's the one who was flirting with him first, and he makes sure Nick sees when he leads her off to the toilets.

He gets down on his knees and she sits on the counter and he eats her out; he hasn't had a girl in a while, sort of misses it. She's really pretty.

After, the two of them do a few lines and stumble back out into the party and she goes off to talk to her friends and Harry sticks around for a while but Nick keeps staring at him so he leaves, goes back to his flat and smashes a few pictures they had hanging on the walls until Zayn comes out and grabs onto him, and Harry elbows Zayn in the stomach.

"Let me the fuck go!"

"Harry," Zayn says. "Harry, what the fuck, man?"

"I just," Harry says, and so that's how he ends up spending his birthday hanging around with Zayn and crying the whole fucking night.

It's not the worst birthday he's had, either.

Later, Louis finds out - of course he does, because there's pictures missing off the wall and Zayn tells him - and he gives Harry a hug, says, "What's wrong?"

"I don't fucking know."

"Well, if you want to smash shit, do it outside the flat, would you," Louis tells him, laughing. "You can be angry, you've just got to use it right, mate."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Ain't ever going to smash the system by wrecking your own home."

-

Harry doesn't let himself go 'round Nick's for a while, and Nick never really came to his place at all in the first place.

It leaves him with this weird, hollow echo in his chest. He misses Nick, he realizes rather dumbly, wants him back, but he's pretty sure Nick got in it with him for the ratings boost on his stupid show and the ensuing popularity.

Nick never said as much or anything, just, Harry can't think of much other reason why someone that bloody nice would want anything to do with him, and that makes Harry mad.

He goes out with Zayn and Zayn's girlfriend Perrie and they tag their neighborhood up with shitty graffiti and then Zayn and Harry work on a huge piece together down by an abandoned building while Perrie keeps a watch out for them,  a huge complicated spray of Thatcher blowing a police officer that's proper funny.

Him and Niall go down to a pub to watch the football and get pissed and get in a fight with some wankers rooting for the other team.

Him and Liam work on music.

And Louis, Louis plans, and Harry helps him. Louis has got these grand, sweeping visions of their future and what they're aiming for, and sometimes Harry disagrees with it but mostly he goes along and doesn't argue, because it's Louis and there isn't much reason to.

Harry's never really been able to win when it comes to Louis.

What Louis wants is to get them on Top of the Pops. What Louis wants is to stage a rogue concert in front of Number 10 Downing Street.

What Louis wants is to get them all arrested, basically, but whatever, it's all for a reason, even if Harry's not quite clear what that reason is anymore.

So they play in front of Number 10, since that one's easiest, then they get put away for a couple of nights and the media practically explodes with pictures of them and a lot of articles talking a lot of shit.

They get on the cover of the NME for three weeks in a row. People recognize them everywhere. Harry, in particular, is constantly mobbed by paparazzi, because it's always Harry who takes the brunt of this.

He's the front man, after all. Even if the others are the ones playing the instruments and writing most of the songs, even if all of them are just as good at singing as him, even if Louis is the brains of the whole thing, Harry's the one who gets the attention.

He's all right with that. He knew from the start that was how it was going to be.

It's just - he misses nights in watching Nick cook spinach pie, or sat around with tea and biscuits watching Dr Who, all the things he'd never really had before.

Sometimes, Harry wishes he'd just stayed on working at the bakery and helping his mum back home, or that the band was a little less relentlessly angry and political all the time, or that his birthday party had gone peacefully and he'd went home with Nick and they were still doing whatever they'd been doing before.

He doubts, two months later, that Nick will want anything to do with him, not after Harry spent a month avoiding him and then spent the entire party - the party Nick threw for him - avoiding Nick and trying to pull one of Nick's friends the entire time.

Probably that was the end of that.

-

Then he finds out Louis's got an interview on the Breakfast Show that Louis didn't tell him about because Louis is a fucking wanker, and he's woken Harry up by banging about at five AM getting ready to leave and Harry punches him in the face.

Louis just stares at him, and Harry subsides, guilty, hunching his shoulders in on himself.

"Should've told me," Harry mumbles, scuffing his foot against the floor.

"Didn't think you'd want to know."

"I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are. You think he wants to see you?" 

"Nah."

"That's going to make for awful radio," Louis says. He looks thoughtful. "Actually, yeah, come along, then, that'll be perfect."

So Harry goes in with Louis, who's already getting a black eye, and they do the Breakfast Show.

"So, we've got two fifths of One Direction with us this morning," Nick announces cheerfully. "And that was their new single! How cute, singing about politics. So, first off, dear Louis Tomlinson here has a black eye. How'd that happen, Louis?"

"Got in a fight with some skinheads last night," Louis says. "Proper Nazis, yeah? They were giving our mate Zayn, he's the drummer, some trouble, so we got into it."

"Looks like Harry here got out unscathed."

"Mostly," Harry says, agreeably, going along with the lie on the spot. "I was inside for most of it, didn't have a clue what was going on."

"Harry Styles, ladies and gentlemen! Didn't have a clue what was going on. You've been a bit of a menace lately, I hear."

"A bit," Harry says. He keeps staring at Nick. Nick offers an apologetic smile.

They go on and talk about the single and about their new record coming up and when fans can expect to see that, and about politics and the band's direction, and Harry lets Louis answer most of it.

The interview gets interrupted by a record here or there, where Harry and Louis are both very quiet and Nick mostly just talks to his crew, and then it's time for them to go, which is fair enough, honestly.

Harry hangs back a bit, though.

"C'mon, Harry, I want breakfast," Louis whines. "Gonna get a full English someplace, come with me."

"I wanna talk to Nick," Harry says.

"You just talked to him!"

"Nah, like proper," Harry says, so he hangs 'round just inside the front door of the studios and doesn't talk to anybody until Nick's leaving.

Nick seems surprised. Harry doesn't blame him.

"Hiya, Harold, good morning. Nice talking to you."

"Hi, Nick," Harry says. He swallows, looks down at his shoes. His cheeks feel hot. "Can we go get lunch someplace?"

Nick takes entirely too long to answer, but eventually nods. "Yeah, all right."

"Cheers, mate." Harry knows full well he's mumbling, but that's fine. Doesn't matter. He shuffles along after Nick out the door and they go get lunch, and talk about the weather and who's been on Nick's show lately and where Harry and the band have been for concerts recently, and it's all very polite and professional.

"Well, it's been lovely," Nick says, once they've settled up the bill.

"Nick." Harry's voice breaks a bit in a way that's wholly embarrassing. He reaches across to grab onto Nick's hand, though. There's paparazzi outside who get a picture of that, because of course there are. 

Whatever.

Harry says, "Nick, I'm sorry, I miss you."

"You're the one stopped talking to me."

"I know," Harry says. "I know, it was stupid, can we - I just wanna go back to yours and watch whatever shit telly you're always obsessing over, can we please just. Do that."

Nick looks down on him with fucking pity and says, "Yeah, all right," and Harry about wants to cry, he's so glad Nick didn't just turn him down.

They get to Nick's, and it's just like it was last time Harry was there, and it even smells the same, and Harry feels a bit like he's come home.

Except Nick's still keeping a bit more distance than usual, not that Harry blames him. Harry kicks his shoes off by the door and then stands there, sheepish, staring at Nick hopefully.

"What?" Nick says, finally.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, then rushes in for a hug, because he needs one of those right now, he's pretty sure. Usually, feeling this restless would have him doing something productive - writing or going out or something - but. He doesn't want to be productive.

He wants a fucking hug.

Nick stands stiff for a moment, then goes soft, pulls Harry in close and rubs his back, says, "Shh, shh."

Harry cries entirely too easily. He's well aware of this, and it's not actually something he's even remotely proud of. He's tried to train himself out of it, but it hasn't worked any, and some days he just aches to be normal. Then he generally snaps out of it again in an hour or two, but still.

Right now, he wants a hug, and right now, he's getting one.

"Oh, Harold," Nick says. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

"You got stuff to make dinner? We could cook."

"Nah," Nick says, making a face and stepping back a little, taking Harry's hand and leading him to the kitchen. "I don't usually have anything. Just eat out all the time. It's your fault I had anything around so often, you know?"

Harry laughs a little, and swipes a hand across his nose. Nick doesn't comment on the sniffling, at least, bless him.

"You want to get takeaway or something?"

"Yeah, we could do," Harry says. "Or do a proper shop, if you're really out of everything."

"Not scared that'll ruin your image?"

"Nah," Harry says. "'S all right."

They go out, head to the shops and buy what's needed for Nick's spinach pie, since he's apparently still obsessed with that, and Harry makes sure they get some other things, as well, for the next few days, because he hopes Nick will let him hang around and figures it's as good an excuse as any.

When they get back, Nick says, "You know I'm still cross with you."

"Yeah," Harry allows, guilty.

"I don't - don't look at me like that! I feel like I've just kicked a puppy, stop that."

Harry laughs. "Sorry!"

"No, look, though, I really - I like you, Harry, I do. I just - don't disappear on me again, yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry sticks his hands in his pockets. "Not without telling you first, at least. Wasn't even mad at you, just - there was things."

"There was things," Nick repeats, incredulous, as he puts the things they don't need away and organizes everything for his stupid spinach pie.

"Yeah." Harry helps with the groceries; he still knows where Nick keeps everything, even though it's been a while. Not that long, he supposes, in the scheme of things. "Things. Just - Lou was saying how I'd been acting all domesticated lately, and I got mad about it."

Nick looks at him thoughtfully for a while. "Don't think anybody could tame you if you didn't want it."

"Yeah. And I sort of thought I didn't? But." Harry shrugs. "I do, so, yeah, no. That's all I wanted to say, I guess."

"All right, then. Well." Nick dusts his hands off, surveying the kitchen. "Help me make this bloody pie and we'll call it even."


End file.
